On the subject of weddings and grooms
by satan-chillin
Summary: Gisela is about to get married to a man she was yet to introduce. Gwendal, surprisingly, was more concerned of this bit than Günter, making him recall a certain first meeting. Married Gwendal/Günter.


unbeta-ed

* * *

"What?"

"I said, Gisela is getting married," Günter repeated patiently, lips quirking as if he was expecting Gwendal's reaction. "You're the second person to know so far."

"I see," Gwendal muttered, sitting back firmly. Unbeknownst to him, he had sat up a little in surprise. It couldn't be helped; hearing Gisela getting married wasn't dissimilar if heard Greta was about to get married. He had seen Gisela grow, after all, and was basically a family even before he married her father.

"He's related to you through your father's side, second-youngest son of the third cousin of your father, she said." Günter tilted his head to the side, not looking up from the petition he was reading. "She's yet to give a name, unfortunately, but she said that he rallied under your banner before."

"You never met him?"

"I haven't."

"And you're letting Gisela marry a man you haven't gauge for yourself?"

"Gisela is old enough to make her decisions and is a good judge of character. Besides, I trust that if she held out on his relationship with him for as long as five years, there must be a good reason why," Günter said, wistful.

True, but the fact that Günter hasn't seen a sliver of this guy's shadow was unsettling to Gwendal for some reason. "Still, you need to see who this person is, at least not before the day they're about to get married. You're Gisela's father." At Günter's sudden chuckling, Gwendal grumbled, "Who's awfully too lax about the matter."

"And you're being too distressed about it," his husband quipped. "I thought it would ease your mind knowing her groom is, albeit distant, related to the Voltaires." He set down his glasses, frowning in concern at Gwendal's silence. "Is there something wrong?"

Nothing, really. Although, there was one particular memory that began to nag on Gwendal. He sighed. "Nothing."

Later that night, Gwendal found himself regretting that he didn't say the truth. His mind began taking him to a trip down to memory lane, back when he was younger—a teenager who was reluctant to attend a wedding he, his mother, and a toddler Conrad were invited to.

It was Gwendal's first experience to attend a wedding ceremony, and albeit not wanting to go, he was curious to see what the fuss was about. The event was grander than the parties his mother would attend and instigate. It wasn't surprising then, especially when he learned that it was the heir of one of the Ten Aristocrats that was about to get married.

It was Günter von Kleist, the known eccentric young lord. While what Gwendal heard mostly about the young lord were in relation to his rather peculiar tastes and behavior, there were two things that were generally agreed on: the young lord was gifted not only with a brilliant mind but also a pretty face. Gwendal supposed those could make anybody overlook the eccentricity.

Idly, he thought there was still hope for Anissina.

It was an outdoor wedding located at the huge garden of the Kleist Castle overlooking a lake. Flowers of different types added naturally to the decoration together with the clear waters. The Kleist, located in the south, knew exactly how to utilize their land other than being known to be rich in vegetation. The breeze and the sun were pleasant on Gwendal's skin that he began to feel thankful that he decided to come along.

"It's a beautiful set up, isn't it?" his mother said, nudging him gently. "Even your sibling thinks so."

The baby must have kicked inside again. He or she was prone to do that recently, Gwendal realized. "I guess," he replied gruffly.

"But you know, the most beautiful in the wedding will always be the bride, Gwen, because it's her most special day. In this case, _his_ most special day. So I bet Lord von Kleist will be lovely!"

"I thought there are two grooms?"

"There are, but I don't think the young lord would mind being called the bride. Perhaps he's even wearing a wedding dress." Cheri's eyes gleamed as she sighed happily. "Brings me back to my weddings."

As his mother began her recollection, excited murmurs began to grow among the guests sitting at the few last rows and spreading up to Gwendal's position. Lord von Kleist was about to make his appearance, it seemed.

Trumpets rang to announce the young lord and the matriarch of the Kleist. The young lord wasn't wearing a wedding dress as Cheri thought, though he was clad in pristine, formal white robes with gold trimming. Gwendal was expecting a face, but it was hidden underneath a white veil that he couldn't see through from his current height. He would have to wait for the ceremony to start then.

The matriarch sat on her place after escorting her son to the altar. At the sole presence of the young lord at the platform, it had strike Gwendal as odd. Cheri said that the other groom was of minor nobility, therefore he should be the one to be there first as Lord von Kleist preceded him by status. The order of arrival should be the other way around.

When Gwendal turned to Cheri, there was a frown on her face as well, signifying she also found it weird.

What was initially excited murmurs had become unrest when the other groom was yet to make his presence after half an hour.

Gwendal didn't have to look under Lord von Kleist veil to see his face. His shoulders that began to droop lower and lower as the hour turned to another were enough of a sign.

He wasn't even surprised when another hour later the matriarch announced that the ceremony was cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances. The prepared reception, though, would remain open for the guests present.

Gwendal didn't know Lord von Kleist on a personal level, and yet the way he quietly retreated from the altar without being noticed didn't sit well with him.

"Gwen?"

"You can go on ahead, mother," Gwendal said as evenly as possible. He didn't want her to suspect where he might be going. "I'd like to take a look around, if you don't mind."

He prided himself as a good liar when the situation called for it, but sometimes he wondered how Cheri could see through him so easily. He knew she had when she simply smiled in understanding, albeit a little sad. "Alright. I'll wait for you inside."

With almost all the guests indoors, Gwendal was free to roam around. With the open area, it wasn't difficult to see the lakeside and make out a figure of white from a distance.

When Gwendal came closer, he paused, unsure what to do once he heard the sobbing.

It stopped when the young lord seemed to have detected Gwendal's presence. Hastily wiping his eyes, he said, "If you're lost, you can ask a guard for directions." His tone wasn't unkind, but he made no move to look who it was.

"I know how to. I just don't want to be in there yet. Too many people," Gwendal said, almost sounding petulant. Thankfully, his voice didn't break.

Though it did make the young lord turn to him, and Gwendal was treated with red-rimmed violet eyes and overall a startled expression. "A kid?"

Gwendal's ire rose. "I'm already thirty!" His indignant answer came.

"Oh, right. A teen. I'm sorry."

Guilt replaced his annoyance. He didn't intend to raise his voice on the young lord. "It's fine." Lord von Kleist glanced at him in confusion when he stood beside him. Gwendal mistook it as wariness. "I'll keep you company. If—if you don't mind, that is."

The young lord mustered a smile at the sincerity of the request. "Company might do me some good." Well, it was surprisingly easy, Gwendal thought as he sat beside him, folding his legs. "Are you not hungry? It was a two-hour wait, after all."

"I'm not. How about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're certainly not alright, so I'm not going to ask how you feel, but are you not hungry?"

"Not really. I'm—I don't think I'll have the appetite to eat." The young lord buried his face on his palms. "I don't think I can even face the guests after that grand disappointment. I do hope the food and party will make it up for their wasted time."

Gwendal crossed his arms. "I was told that you were eccentric, but not stupid," he told him bluntly.

"Pardon?"

"The only one who has the right to feel disappointed is you. You're stood up on your own wedding, but you're more worried for the guests who are only here to eat and dance until they're satisfied. Honestly, I didn't want to accompany my mother, because she sees this as an opportunity to introduce me around the sons and daughters around my age. And then I remembered that she's pregnant and she needed me. Earlier, I thought that it wasn't so bad—the weather is good for me and the scenery is nice. My point is, not all of us went here solely for the wedding. So why bother with people whose reasons to be here outweigh your special day?"

The young lord's eyes lowered ashamedly, making Gwendal feel even more terrible. His aim was to lift his companion's spirits, damn it, and he was doing a _very_ good job of it, as he was sure Anissina would say to him. Still, it wasn't like Gwendal was known for sugarcoating.

"Sorry, it sounds better in my head," Gwendal muttered.

"I don't mind." Lord von Kleist stared ahead. "Your honesty is refreshing, knowing later I'll be getting pitying words and a bit of reprimand from my mother. She expressed her disapproval, you know? Apparently, she knew my supposed-groom is the kind of person who can't keep it to his pants." He hugged his legs, and Gwendal could see how he already dirtied most of his white attire. "I think I know too. I mean, I've never caught him, but I did feel like the attraction he has for me is on a physical level alone. He refused to talk to me before for months, because it turned out that he disapproved strongly of my refusal of any, err, premarital activities." Gwendal was no stranger to the talk of sex, but he couldn't stop the heating of his ears and face. He hated his reaction. The young lord smiled apologetically upon seeing his blush. "I didn't mean to suddenly vent that. I forgot that you're fifty years my junior."

"You're only eighty?" It wasn't exactly a young age, and yet Gwendal couldn't see himself marrying by that age.

The young lord didn't seem to take offense at the question. "Turning eighty-one this year. And I had been with him for only two years."

In Gwendal's opinion, it was an awfully short time to know somebody truly. "I see."

"I know what you're thinking: it was a short courtship and it was like we were rushing to marriage." The young lord wasn't looking at him when he said it. "I don't even have the strength to disagree. It's true anyway. I thought it was true love, and I loved him; love him still, actually. Probably until I learn to stop. It's just that I've never felt this foolish in whole own life." His lower lip jutted out, quivering. "I'm so stupid."

As if mechanical, Gwendal's hand found his pocket to retrieve a newly-knitted (and unfinished) handkerchief. "It's your groom who's stupid, not you." His fingers darted to gingerly wipe underneath the young lord's wet eyes. "Your only fault is that you loved the wrong person. You deserve someone better."

Too focused on his task and having an epiphany that Lord von Kleist was unequivocally pleasing to the eyes when he wasn't crying (though Gwendal would find out some decades later that it held a strange appeal), Gwendal was too late to realize that the young lord had stopped sobbing and was staring at him with his wide purple eyes and lips parted delicately. When a cute blush dusted the pale cheeks, Gwendal became hyperaware of what _in Shinou's name_ he was doing.

"It's—this—this—" Gwendal dropped his hands comically. "I wasn't—"

And much to his utter horror, the young lord began chuckling and— _oh, Shinou, let the ground swallow me now!_

"I used to think that 'red like a tomato was an exaggerated expression'," Lord von Kleist somehow managed to say; perhaps taking pity on Gwendal why he recovered easily. "You're quite a gentleman, aren't you…"

"Gwendal," the younger man whispered. "Gwendal von Voltaire."

"Oh, you're Lady Cecile's oldest," Lord von Kleist said. "I've met your father too. He was a disciplinarian, but a good man and a brave and loyal soldier." Gwendal knew his father wasn't a friendly person, or to be more accurate, never bothered to rub elbows with the nobles, therefore Gwendal hardly heard pleasant things about him coming from somebody else than his mother. The young lord's words were kind and new to him. "With your parents, it's no wonder you're a gentleman. A bit grumpy, I'd say, but a gentleman, nonetheless." Gwendal bit his lip when the young lord clutched the knitted cloth and called it _cute_ , thankfully not asking any questions regarding it. "Are you engaged, Gwendal?"

"No. It's something mother wants me to decide for myself." He was free to love anybody, she said, though she wished immensely that it would happen soon.

"Whoever it'll be, I'm sure he or she would be tremendously lucky to have you."

When Lord von Kleist's mouth curved into a breathtaking smile, Gwendal immediately knew then that he wouldn't be looking anywhere else afterwards.

 _And I'm right_ , he thought as he pulled Günter closer to him. His husband had gone to bed earlier than Gwendal and had been sleeping like a baby ever since he quietly slipped in beside him.

Or so he thought.

"You're thinking noisily, dear," Günter suddenly said, turning around to Gwendal and looking up at him. "It's about Gisela's marriage, isn't it?"

"Partly," Gwendal admitted. "But not wholly about it."

"Tell me."

Should he? He knew it was a particular unpleasant event in Günter's life that had affected Gwendal's view in marriage in general. He recalled wanting to beat the life out of Hube when he heard how he let Nicola by herself while carrying his child. While Gwendal learned the real story later on, his anger at Hube for neglecting her didn't ebb away for some time.

At his silence, Günter rolled on his elbows, hovering over Gwendal in a tantalizing manner than had his thin nightgown reveal most of his shoulders kissed by moonlight.

"Is it about our first meeting?"

A beat passed before Gwendal breathed a _yes_.

"You're afraid it'll happen to her."

"Whenever I heard of anybody close to me about to get married, I always have this fear that they'll be abandoned on the altar." Musing it aloud sounded irrational even to his own ears.

"That's thoughtful of you," Günter commented, idly tracing a finger on Gwendal's chest. "Though I wasn't expecting the incident to have such a strong impact on you."

He didn't experience it first-hand, but Gwendal couldn't come up with any explanation as to why.

Günter shifted to lay his head down on Gwendal's chest, giving a contented hum. "I never said this before: I'm glad it happened." He pulled one of Gwendal's hand to rest atop his head. "It's not fun to be stood up and have your heart broken, but if it didn't happen, then I wouldn't have met you that time. Also, I wouldn't have heard comforting words from a dashing young man."

"You mean audacious."

"I know what I said, love." Günter grinned, eyes fluttering to a close. "Meeting you was one of my most memorable experience, so I'm glad that I didn't get married that day and remained a bachelor until you asked for my hand. I had no qualms accepting, of course, because I knew I was right when I said whoever you would love will be tremendously lucky to have you."

And yet every time it was Gwendal who would feel that he was the luckiest when he married Günter. His husband didn't let him voice his thoughts, beating him to it by falling asleep with his mouth falling slack. Soon, drool would be pooling down his chest, Gwendal knew.

"Cute," he grunted amusedly, carding through Günter's hair affectionately. "I love you."

He supposed he should turn in for the night as well. There was a letter to be sent first thing in the morning at the Voltaire lands.

After all, there was still a future groom to meet… and criticize.

 _ **fin**_


End file.
